


Everything You've Got

by Barkour



Category: Tiger & Bunny
Genre: M/M, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-11
Updated: 2012-02-11
Packaged: 2017-10-30 23:36:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/337442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Barkour/pseuds/Barkour
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The old man would not let it go. The idea that he was to guide Barnaby with a firm hand as a senior a junior, a parent a child, had stuck.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Everything You've Got

**Author's Note:**

> Writing fic after four episodes, like it's 2011 and I'm not late to the party.

The old man would not let it go. The idea that he was to guide Barnaby with a firm hand as a senior a junior, a parent a child, had stuck. Had Barnaby known he would take it as anything but a barb, he would never have called Tiger _sempai_. He'd preferred the envious antagonism and the distance Tiger enforced before.

Now, Wild Tiger clapped his shoulder in the shadow of the smoldering building. He was smiling, his mouth crinkling. His hand lingered at Barnaby's back.

"Hey, you did good back there. You're still overthinking things, but..." 

Barnaby smiled for the omnipresent cameras, their lenses gleaming. They whirred and clicked; his face would show thirty feet tall on the Stern Bild Square jumbotron. 

"I _am_ thinking for two."

The spectators - always spectators, even with smoke still rising thickly into the afternoon sky and the street blocked off - laughed. Wild Tiger pulled his face and looked away. He rubbed his thumb across his nose and left a streak of ash along his jaw.

The cameras had moved on, but Barnaby did not lower his faceplate. He'd soot in his mouth, ash on his tongue. He rolled his lips, made to touch them then, glancing at Tiger with grit black on his face, thought the better of it. 

Tiger elbowed him. His eyes were lidded; he jerked his chin. His upper lip peeled back, showing his incisors. Barnaby frowned.

"Hey, hey," said Wild Tiger, "here they come. Want to put your smile back on, little bunny?"

"Old man," said Barnaby kindly, "I've told you repeatedly, my name is Barnaby. Perhaps you underestimate the hardiness of your head."

"Oi!" said Tiger. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Then the first unaffiliated reporter was upon them. "Barnaby! Barnaby, you've scored another heroic five hundred points today, putting you one spot higher in this season's ranking! How you must feel!"

"I'm only happy to have done my part to protect the citizens of Stern Bild," said Barnaby.

*

Tiger put on that child's whine in the locker room: "'I'm only happy to nyeh nyeh nyeh.'"

"If you'd perform better, then you could field the inane questions, too," said Barnaby. He began peeling the insulating rubber under-suit from his shoulders. A muscle low in his back twinged. Ice, later.

Tiger - Kotetsu, now that he'd stripped the mask from his eyes - squinted at him. He'd that look again. Spirit gum dotted his eyelids, pale spots on his brown skin. A spiderweb of fine lines creased the skin around each eye. When Kotetsu stuck his jaw out, as he did then, his mouth deepened.

"You know, Bunny," said Kotetsu, "we're supposed to be a team. _Maybe_ you could stop patronizing me while we're fighting for our lives, do you think?" 

He jerked the suit from his shoulders, too; it split neatly. His spine was a long furrow dividing the lean and hardened musculature of his back. A pale divot, an old scar, showed where the suit parted. Kotetsu bent to drag the rubber loose. The scar yawned.

Barnaby turned away. His skin was clammy beneath his own suit. The stink of smoke lingered in his nose. He pulled the suit down his hips, over the swell of bone, the suggestion of muscle. In the far corner, Kotetsu did the same; the rubber squeaked over his skin, and Kotetsu grunted. A little, rough sound, caught in his nose.

"This partnership was not my idea, either," said Barnaby.

"You've made that clear," muttered Kotetsu.

Barnaby yanked the suit from his legs. His feet were cold, sticky with sweat, and his toes curled against the tiled floor. He folded the suit twice then left it on the bench.

"I'll take the first shower," said Barnaby. His voice thrummed in his ears.

"There's more than one stall!" Kotetsu called after him, but Barnaby did not acknowledge him.

*

The shower water warmed quickly. Barnaby scrubbed his face, his scalp, carding his fingers through his hair till his head ached from the scrape of his nails. He rubbed a lather between his palms and breathed in the faint, clean scent of rosemary mint.

The door to the showers opened. Barnaby lowered his hands.

Water hissed in another stall on the opposite side of the wall. Kotetsu draw a sharp breath, then the pounding of the water cleared Barnaby's ears. Barnaby wiped savagely at his face and throat. The soap stung his eyes. His back throbbed dully, but without reprieve, and the ache had spread to his shoulders. The falling crossbeam had caught him on the back, his power already faded, but it had been Kotetsu who'd shouted.

"How's your back?"

Kotetsu's voice was distorted first by the water running then by the empty spaces of the showers. It echoed oddly and warbled, too.

"Fine," said Barnaby. He washed his chest and watched the soap run down the drain. His toes curled; it wasn't cold at all. "How's your head, old man?"

"Ha ha ha," said Kotetsu. He made a knocking sound on the wall. "Hardy as ever. Us old guys have thick skulls. Not like you delicate bunnies."

Hips, thighs. His back tightened, the abdominal muscles clenching. Barnaby breathed out, cleared his mind, and bent.

"Listen." Even through the distortion, Kotetsu sounded awkward. His voice husked; it dropped. Water in his mouth, slowing his tongue. The thought distracted. "Thanks for--pushing me out of the way. But you know I--"

Barnaby straightened. "Next time, please be more aware of your surroundings. Our job is to protect the citizens of Stern Bild, not each other."

"Now, wait a minute--"

Barnaby shut his shower off. The air in the locker room was cold; it sucked at his skin. His back had taken the blow, but it was his stomach that ached now. He dried off then flung the towel aside, and shivering - cold, and angry - he began to dress. His trousers stuck to his skin. Wet, still. He fumbled the button, his thumb skating over it.

What had Kotetsu shouted in that tenement as it burned and warped and fell to pieces? "Idiot!" he'd shouted at Barnaby. "I've still got power!" To prove it, he'd surged up, planted his glowing hands on either side of Barnaby, and shoved the crossbeam clear, and Barnaby had thought--

He pulled his jacket on. His hair dripped, plastered to his nape. He'd counted. Hadn't he? Kotetsu had used his five minutes; he'd counted. The zipper stuck. He'd misaligned the slider with the teeth. Barnaby coiled his fingers, made a fist, relaxed, made a fist again.

The shower door opened. Wet feet on the tiles. Barnaby bent his head to the matter of his jacket. His finger caught on the zipper's teeth. Barnaby set his own.

"Your hair's still soaked," said Kotetsu. He clucked his tongue. "You'll catch a cold like that."

Barnaby jerked the zipper up to his neck. "I don't intend to go out with my hair still wet or unstyled."

"Colds aren't jokes," Kotetsu scolded. "You might think it's just a sniffle, but you should always be careful. If you don't treat a cold right away, it can lead to bronchitis or even pneumonia--"

Barnaby turned. "I'll keep that in mind," he said.

Kotetsu was frowning. Kotetsu was always frowning. His own hair was a mess, tangled and wet and curled around his ears. With water droplets glimmering in his short eyelashes, more in the trimmed hairs of his beard, and his brown throat and wide chest dripping, he looked both his age and strangely young. But that wasn't strange. For once, he looked the child, too.

Barnaby closed his locker and stooped to pick up the towel.

"Ah," said Kotetsu. He scratched at his ear. A series of water beads dropped from his elbow, following their course down his tightened biceps. "I was thinking. In the name of teamwork. If you'd like to get a beer? After the interviews."

He said this as if it were torn out of him. Perhaps Agnes lurked nearby, camera at hand. Barnaby doubted she'd permission to film the showers. But Kotetsu looked pained, as if the suggestion had clawed its way out of his throat. Far be it from Barnaby to suffer Kotetsu with his presence, so unwanted.

"I have a previous commitment," said Barnaby. He smiled. The corners of his mouth hurt, tucked up like that. "Perhaps next time."

Kotetsu rubbed at his face, both hands cradling his cheeks, long fingers pushing into the wet shadow of his hair. The towel wound about his waist slipped on his hips.

"Yeah," he said. "Sure. Next time. Have fun with your whatever, bunny."

Barnaby inclined his head, but Kotetsu wasn't looking. He'd turned to his own locker, his head bowed, water slick on his spread shoulders as he reached for--

Barnaby closed the door.

*

And if he'd said yes. If he'd said yes, then? 

The elevator rose. Barnaby closed his eyes. Lights flickered outside, distant suggestions penetrating his eyelids. If he allowed such distance, then the movement of the elevator was like flying, like soaring. As a child, he'd enjoyed that. Hadn't he? He opened his eyes.

If he'd said yes, then:

The first scenario was they'd go to a bar. Whose bar? What bar? Somewhere Kotetsu was comfortable, a bar he knew, where he'd be known. _Where everybody knows your name_ \-- Barnaby rubbed at his head. The ache had spread higher now. The elevator clicked along. Three floors left.

A bar where they'd greet Kotetsu. Not Kotetsu. Wild Tiger. Wild Tiger laughing, the lines around his eyes not easing but deepening. Tiger would clasp a man's hand. The man would say, "Hey, nice going out there, Tiger," or "You owe me one, buddy," and Tiger would say, "Yeah, yeah, what do you like - light beer?" Laughter, again, a track running in the back.

The elevator stopped. Sighing, the doors opened and let Barnaby out.

His apartment was dark. The bar would be bright, and the lights, warm and honey-gold, would catch in the neck of the beer bottle Tiger would roll between his fingers. Would he roll it? Sweat would bead the glass. The rim would be wet from Tiger's mouth, and Tiger's mouth would be wet with beer.

Barnaby dropped his keys on the table. Stern Bild shone outside the long wall of windows, glittering and never sleeping.

He would sit in the booth next to Wild Tiger, and Wild Tiger, grinning, surrounded by friends, would say, "Hey, everybody, this here's my buddy--"

Barnaby turned on the flat screen. Blue Rose's Pepsi commercial filled the apartment with sound and light and glitz.

The second scenario was they'd go to a bar. Perhaps not a bar Kotetsu knew. Perhaps one he did. Someone would recognize Wild Tiger, but someone else would call to Barnaby first. Barnaby would smile. He would smile, and he would pose for photos, and he would sign napkins, a purse, a man's receipt. Wild Tiger would nurse a beer in the booth, or on a stool, and the lines of his mouth would turn down, would thicken. His fingers would tap the side of the glass. He'd turn away, alone. His shoulders would bend, and he'd rest his hand at the back of his neck, and someone would touch Barnaby's arm and say, "Gosh, you're so brave, going into that fire all alone like that."

"If Kotetsu had waited instead of rushing in, I wouldn't have had to," said Barnaby to his apartment. 

The commercial had ended. Barnaby stared up into his own face, as he said, hours before, "Of course, it was a team effort," but did not argue the reporter's insisting Barnaby had carried the team. Wild Tiger's shoulder moved out of frame, and only Barnaby, smiling, remained.

In the bar, Wild Tiger would stand. He'd offer to pay for his beer then Barnaby would say, "Allow me, sempai." The host standing at Barnaby's elbow, notepad at the ready, would giggle in admiration. Wild Tiger would smile thinly, his teeth hard beneath his lip. 

He'd leave then, hands in his pockets. Barnaby would watch the door close and then he would turn to the host and say, "To whom should I write this?"

The screen changed. Kotetsu, mask in place, smiled uncomfortably at the camera. His hair was damp and flatter than usual; this was shortly after the shower, then.

"Ah, well," he said, "Bunnnaby's not much for improvising, but he's certainly, uh--" He made a hand gesture, difficult to decipher.

What of their relationship? the reporter wanted to know. "It must be awkward, working alongside a younger, popular hero with the same power."

Wild Tiger looked trapped. He glanced to the side - checking for Agnes, thought Barnaby sourly - then he opened his mouth and he said--

Barnaby turned the TV off.

His apartment was quiet and dark but for Stern Bild's constant glow. Quiet and dark and empty, too. Barnaby touched the small of his back. Ice, then a hotpad. Simple exercises to unlock the muscles.

He hadn't the time for a beer anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> * The title's from the _Cheers_ theme, itself quoted in the fic. ("Where everybody knows your name.")
> 
> * I'm really grossly in love with the idea that Barnaby and Kotetsu, having each resisted the partnership for their own reasons, are each offended by the other's resistance.
> 
> * Ba(rna)by's first awkward boner. I hope I have improved your reading experience on this day.


End file.
